


Burn the Pages

by BromeliadLucy



Series: Fics based on Sia songs [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, sia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9892652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: Based on Sia's song 'Burn the Pages'. Given Bucky's book, it seemed appropriate!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in italics

_You're dark grey like a storm cloud_  
Swelling up with rage that is desperate to be let out  
And I know it's a heavy load carrying those tears around  
Carrying those fears around, worry makes the world go round 

It was the same every night since he’d got back from Wakanda. He held himself still, put on a smile for Steve when he could, his face showing the clear-eyed calm Steve needed to see, but when Steve turned away, the storm would wash over him again, the burden he carried making his shoulder sag. There was fear, and despair, and rage, churning inside him, storm clouds roiling and ready to burst at any point.

_You're twisted up like a slipknot_  
Tied by a juicehead who just took his T-shot, and I know  
There's a hungry dog tugging at your frayed ends  
But he's just playing with you, he just wants to be your friend 

During the day he could hold the storm inside, he could even let the sun shine through sometimes, but at night it got worse. The dark outside reflected the dark inside and there was no escape from his thoughts. He’d writhe in bed under the force of the demons in his head, sheets twisting into inescapable knots that tied him down to his dreams and prevented his escape.

She’d heard the nightmares for too long now, needed to act. She cared too much about him to let him suffer alone anymore, so one night she slipped into his room. She stood inside the doorway, listening to his panicked breathing, saw his fists clenching and grabbing at the sheet. His head spun from side to side, she could feel his mind fraying, worn away by sorrow. She wasn’t afraid of what he might do, of the darkness waking inside him and hurting her. She knew he’d only hurt himself more than anyone else, so she walked quietly to the side of the bed, knelt on the carpet, leaning over to reach for him. Gently, she ran one finger down the back of his hand, then slid her fingers under his. His hand closed on hers convulsively, gripping like a man drowning. He was drowning, in his fears. He hadn’t woken, was still murmuring and gasping, had exhausted himself with the screams and yells from before.

_So don't worry, don't worry I'm here by your side_  
By your side, by your side  
Yesterday is gone and you will be OK 

Quietly, she whispered to him, hoping the words would penetrate, and bring some light into his darkness.

‘It’s OK. Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’s OK Bucky. I’m here. I’m here, by your side’.

She kept up this litany, repeating her words over and over, feeling his hand relax as she stroked his fingers, heard his breath smooth over as the storm passed, then she saw the glint as his eyes opened and the last edges of light caught them. She smiled softly, carried on stroking his hand, carried on talking for a moment longer. He lay quietly, then tightened his fingers again, gently, around hers, a silent thank you.

She reached over, kissed his forehead, and left.

The scene was repeated, not nightly, but often enough that she started to worry during the day. The sleeplessness told on both their faces. As winter drew in, the nights got longer and left more time for nightmares, and she shivered as she knelt on the floor beside the bed. Her fingers, holding his, were pale and cool in the night air, goosebumps rising on her skin, but it never occurred to her not to be there. To lie warm in her own bed, know that he was suffering and not act would have been impossible.

During the day, they didn’t speak of what happened at night, but they felt drawn to each other like magnets, seeking each other out. She didn’t realise how much she needed to offer comfort until she found her own salvation in what she did. They sat together in silence, as he read over and over his memory book, finding comfort in the happy memories of the ‘30s, of family, of Steve.

Three weeks later, when she’d soothed him through another nightmare, this time he didn’t let go of her hand. His fingers tightened on hers and then, with his other arm, he lifted up the blankets covering him, inviting her in. She felt the warmth of the air against her cool skin and without allowing herself time to think, climbed in. He shuffled back, giving her space, and she lay on the sheets heated by his body and felt herself relax in the warmth. Carefully, slowly, giving her time to demur, he shuffled towards her until her back was against his chest, his arm wrapped around her, sharing his body heat. She sighed happily as she warmed up, feeling his breath against her neck, his hand wrapped over both of hers, he now rubbing her skin. She curled her legs up into the warmth and accidentally brushed her cold feet against his leg, making him squeal and then laugh. It was the first time in so long that she’d heard him laugh, and it was the sound that echoed in her ears as she fell asleep in his arms.

Now the routine had a new element. Each night they went to their own rooms and yet more often than not, come the morning, they would wake up together in his bed. There were nights where he didn’t have nightmares and she wasn’t needed, but on the nights when FRIDAY would wake her up and she went to him, she stayed.

During the day, he still continued to read his book, trying to fix the happier memories in his head and burn out the worse ones. The book was his lifeline and she loved watching him smile as he went through the pages. She sat and watched, and thought.

The next day she went out, bought a new notebook, and found him in the afternoon. She handed it to him, and he looked up puzzled as she sat down beside him, drawing her knees up under her chin.

‘This one’s for the bad things. For the hard times, and the nightmares. Put them in here, out of your head.’ She ran one hand down his cheek, stubble rasping her skin and cupped his jaw in her hand. He leant into the touch and she smiled, suddenly feeling like crying and not sure why. ‘Yesterday is gone. You’ll be OK. Trust me, Buck?’ 

He nodded. He trusted her, needed her, wanted her. He didn’t want to say but he’d come to almost dread the nights without the nightmares as much as the tormented nights now, because when he slept peacefully, she wasn’t there. He realised he was staring when she removed her hand, tapped the book on his lap.

‘Try for me? Write the bad stuff down?’

He started only because she’d asked him to, but as the words spilt onto the page, as he allowed the storm cloud inside to burst, flooding the book with his fears, his anger, his sorrow, he began to feel lighter. There was catharsis in seeing the words in black and white, they were trapped on the page. He knew it was an illusion; that the memories, the things he’d done, would live with him forever, but pouring it out gave him a different perspective. Writing about what Hydra had done to him, how could he then hold so much guilt for what they’d made him do? The pages filled and while the nightmares continued, at least during the day he found space to let the sun shine in. She was his sun, he circled her and basked in the warmth when she turned to him.

Spring came and the nights started to get shorter, the dark pulling back, and although his nightmares continued, they were easier to escape from. The relief from fear made him cry, not realising how trapped he’d been until he found a way out. He continued to write, until the book was full, and then didn’t know what to do.

The Tower was quiet, some of the team away on missions, the rest sleeping, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to shut off. He stood on the balcony, legs braced, arms folded, staring out at the city in the dark. So many stories out there, lights twinkling on and off as people lived their lives, free of 60 years of horror. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realise she was there until he felt arms snake around his waist, her cheek press up against his back. He looked over his shoulder and she looked up at him, chin digging in as she smiled. His chest loosened as her eyes caught his.

‘The book’s full’. He gestured with his head at where the two books lay on a table nearby. He liked to have them near him, to feel their weight, to read over the good times, to press closed the bad times to stop them leaking from the pages. She nodded, she’d seen him writing for weeks, months now, sometimes filling pages, at other times just adding a sentence but then sitting and staring at it unmoving.

Her eyes glinted in the moonlight and he felt his heart catch at the sight. She smiled, mischievous but gentle.

_Place your past into a book, burn the pages_  
Let ‘em cook  
Eyes stinging from the black smoke, new hope 

‘Wanna burn it?’

His own eyes widened in surprise. Burn it? All those hours of writing, pouring out his fears, but then, suddenly, it felt right. He never wanted to read it again, dreading catching a glimpse of the words on one page as he turned to another. He wanted them gone. Symbolic, sure, the memories were still in his head, but this was his way of controlling them. No more Hydra-wipes, deciding what he could and couldn’t keep; no more battling the memories as they overran him and gave him no respite. Now he was in control. He grinned down, and her smile widened in response.

‘Yes!’

There was a barbecue on the roof terrace, gas powered, so it was the work of seconds to light it up. The flames flickered along his metal arm, turning it orange then blue, colours shifting. They stood close, feeling the warmth against their skin, then without ceremony, he lifted the book and dropped it on the fire. Sparks flew up and the flames curved around the book, licking across the cover, the edges of the pages already turning brown and then black. She reached over, picked up a pair of tongs that were hanging on the edge, gave it a poke, so that the cover flew back, and they watched as the first page gradually burnt away, ash blowing in their eyes. He pulled her back as the wind shifted, blowing the smoke towards them, and they felt their eyes sting. 

‘Let it cook!’ She giggled and he wrapped his arms around her, leaning his cheek against her hair, and watched the flames burn the book, cleansing the memories, giving him some hope, even if just for tonight.

_We welcome the cry, of the dark night sky  
Swallow me peacefully, follow my heart back inside_

When there was nothing left, he turned off the gas, and watched the wind whip the ashes away over the dark night of the city. With the fire gone, the chill air made them both shiver and he tightened his arms around her, the warmth of her back against him welcome. More than welcome, necessary. He needed her, in his arms, and when she pulled away, the cold on his skin made him feel alone. She turned though, held his hand in hers, tugged it gently when he didn’t move.

‘Come on, it’s too cold to stay out here, and it’s the middle of the night. We need some sleep.’

He hadn’t wanted this night to end, standing in the firelight with her, and dreaded now the cold of his empty bed as she went to hers, but he followed her back inside. He would have followed her anywhere; his heart was hers. 

Shivering now, they headed back towards the bedrooms, but she didn’t stop outside her door, continuing on to his. She looked up at him, nervous now. She came into his room when he needed her, when the nightmares tormented him. She’d never come in before when he was awake. Her eyes questioned him, then she saw him break into a smile, the kind that hadn’t been seen on his face in sixty years, and as he reached past her to open the door, he bent down and brushed his lips against hers.


End file.
